


Whisper

by purplekitte



Category: Ashes of Prospero - Gav Thorpe, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Cultural Differences, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Sharing a Body, discussion of sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: A Space Wolf and a Thousand Son have nothing in common. They never listen--both sides know. So it has always been and always will be. [spoilers for Ashes of Prospero]





	Whisper

There was nothing inherently suspicious about Njal taking his sustenance from regulation ration packs for Astartes rather than the usual fair in the Space Wolves’ feasting hall. They were an overcrowded and undersupplied ship. It was a sign of responsibility from a leader to set a good example.

+At least it’s not more raw meat,+ said Izzakar Orr, which from him was practically a shout of approval.

‘Have rations changed since your day?’ Njal muttered quietly into his beard as he wiped it with his hand.

+That very ration pack might date from my day without change to composition or palatability, at least if the Officio Munitorium is to be believed.+

Njal smiled--that joke was as old as the Heresy as well and was still in use.

+You use a different chemical formulation, though. Presumably it’s to compensate for the nutritional gaps caused by your usual diet of dog food.+ Njal ignored him and eventually Izzakar added, +I do understand that it only makes sense ecologically for an ice world diet to consistent mostly of fatty meat with little or no vegetable matter. I’m not ignorant of everywhere outside my own world.+

‘You ate more plants on Prospero?’ asked Njal tentatively.

+We didn’t go around eating leaves, if that’s what you’re imagining.+

‘I wasn’t,’ lied Njal.

+We had a much wider variety of vegetation than evergreen trees and seaweed. We also had more mastery of the culinarian’s arm than the ability to sear things with fire. Congratulations on not forgetting that one, though.+

_I don’t know why I try,_ he thought to himself. But he found himself dour as he finished his soylent viridians, with ghost cravings for things he’d never tasted.

*

It was an unfamiliar sensation to be so aware of his own physicality, but knowing the disembodied spirit within him could see what he saw, feel what he felt, left Njal paying more attention to his own body than he normally would.

He noticed how his fangs fit in his mouth, how his beard moved when he breathed or turned his head, the stench of too many bodies in the cramped quarters of the cruiser, the bulky drag of his Terminator armour, the thick red hair on his arms and how the pale skin prickled with momentarily goosebumps as he took his icy ablutions. Or maybe Izzakar noticed those things.

‘What did you look like?’

+Like myself.+

How decidedly unhelpful. Njal avoided looking in reflective surfaces.

*

‘You pity them, your fellow psykers,’ Njal noted as he sorted through the bleed-over of Izzakar’s over the _Longclaw_ ’s astropaths.

+No. As a human, I am capable of feeling empathy towards my fellow human beings. You wouldn’t understand, dog of Russ.+

‘I can too.’

+Really? You who have never missed an opportunity to remind me of the spiteful glee you take in the death of all that I know and love? You who delight in the death of my culture and way of life, my brothers and the many innocents who happened to be in our vicinity?+

Izzakar’s hurt was strong under the anger, almost strong enough to drown out Njal’s shame. ‘In your lifetime, the Space Wolves attacked your home and people. But I wasn’t there. In my lifetime, the Thousand Sons attacked my home and people. Whatever the reasons, good or bad, that anyone had, I should be able to understand the pain of that.’

He could feel Izzakar forcing his anger to diffuse. +I can’t forgive you any more than you can forgive me, but I will not be more still-necked than a Space Wolf.+

‘We think of ourselves as one of the better Chapters,’ Njal told Izzakar, the root of his offense at the accusation. ‘We care for the people. Our people. We try to minimise civilian casualties. We do what needs to be done to protect the Allfather’s realm, but we are not cruel. We have fought other Chapters and other Imperial institutions over it many times over the millennia.’

+That was not so in my time. The Sixth Legion would never have taken pride in that. They bragged of their savagery. Their purpose was to leave none alive when unleashed.+

‘Is that so?’ Njal whispered, more to himself than to Izzakar. He wondered what they would find when they were reunited with the Thirteenth Company.

*

+Are you going to take care of that?+

‘Is it bothering you?’

+If this were my body, I could diffuse its needs and hormones easily. You, however, are an uneducated savage. I’m surprised you’ve paused at all before getting yourself off.+

Njal bristled slightly. ‘Well I would normally.’

+Is it because I’m here? I assure you, I care as little about this as the rest of your bodily functions.+

Considering Izzakar’s level of complaining about Njal’s body, that was a questionable assertion. However… ‘It’s the very definition of dishonour, to be _seithskratti_. A _wyrdthegn_ is a respectable position, an honoured one, whoever does it, but it is one for a woman first and foremost. One can gain power or knowledge from being possessed by a spirit, but it is unmanly. It is expected of a woman, but for a man it is as playing a woman for another man to have him.’

+That was remarkably sexist and homophobic, but I believe I understand you better.+

Njal fumed silently to himself. He was an educated man as well, at least by the standards of his own people. He had travelled widely across the Imperium and knew of other cultures and secrets of the wyrd. He knew the true horrors of daemonic possession. ‘Perhaps the details only make sense within the context of Fenrisian culture, but it’s the idea of it. It’s not just about sex; people can have sex with any sort of meaning behind it. But on Fenris, for a man to submit to another man is a thing of particular meaning. A Fenrisian must be in control of himself. He must know his own mind and carry out his own will, not another’s. He fulfils his oaths and serves his liege, but because his liege is worth serving and knows better.’

+Yet you would hand over control to me when only I can save your people, as when we held closed the Geller field.+

‘Yes,’ Njal whispered, so quietly it was hardly a sound.

+Then you’re not a complete fool.+ Izzakar trailed off. +I do not seek to shame you or emasculate you or however you conceive of it. Just deal with it.+

Njal was glad Izzakar had never shown an ability to hear what he was thinking.

*

_I miss you,_ he thought to himself. Izzakar had never been able to read his thoughts then let alone now. Nor would he hear it if he whispered it out loud. Njal refrained.

Yet it was true. His mind felt empty, though Izzakar had been lighter than a feather, taking up no space and leaving no footprint behind. He had resented the lack of privacy, the critical commentary at the back of his mind, yet…

Izzakar had known so many things and had wanted to tell him all of them, even if he had been condescending about it. Njal regretted all the times he’d ignored him rather engaging with him while he’d had the chance. He remembered Izzakar’s anger and loneliness and pain and wanted to ask after all that happened _are things alright between us?_

He remember Izzakar in the flesh as he had left him. He unfamiliar rasp of his physical voice, his height and build. He wondered what he looked like without his helmet, not that it should matter. He wondered what it would have been like to touch his skin through the rents in his red lacquered armour, how the edges of those tantalising paler patches on his dark skin where his black carapace had been damaged would have felt.

He should not be thinking that.

But would it be wrong? It had felt wrong before because Izzakar had been possessing him, making him compromise body and will. If they were merely two brothers enjoying each other’s bodies, helping each other out, that was as men did. He had done so with battle-brothers he had a close bond with many times without shame. If Izzakar had been a _wyrdthegn_ of his own Chapter, if he had come home with him…

The first time had been an accident. The next time he had reached across the galaxy to touch another soul with his own, he knew who he was searching for.


End file.
